


Breathe

by RZZMG



Series: Powerful Moments [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Childbirth, Difficult life choices, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, HP: EWE, Mutual Pining, ObsessedandInLove!Draco, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night was all they'd had, and then they'd parted ways... Eight months after their painful break-up, Draco runs into Hermione in Diagon Alley, and receives the surprise of his life. That encounter will force him to make a life-altering decision: to honour his family's obligations, or to find the courage to turn his back on centuries of tradition, his inheritance, and his parents all for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish, you may consider this story the epilogue to "Small, But Powerful Moments", as the details of the virginity loss and the timeline mesh.
> 
> This was my 2012 Hawthorn & Vine "Treasured Tropes" Fest (dramione.org) entry. The prompt I chose was put forth by the lovely DRAMIONE-13: "It's been eight months since Draco breaks up with Hermione due to his parents adamancy he marry a pureblood. Lo and behold, he runs into Hermione while he is getting things done for his wedding in Diagon Alley. And she's pregnant."
> 
> TIMELINE: Timeline is Post-Hogwarts, 1999 (A/U - Voldemort was not resurrected, no war, blood prejudice still exists, Hermione was never a war heroine, and Draco was never a Death Eater)
> 
> Thank you once more to my amazing betas, LadySashi & Unseenlibrarian! 
> 
> Thank you to H&V for putting on this fantastic fest!

 

* * *

 

 

She was pregnant.

Really, really pregnant.

As I stared down at the large, rounded belly of the witch whose virginity I'd taken just eight, short months ago, my mouth went unexpectedly dry and a shiver electrified my spine. Sweat broke out across my brow and in the centre of my palms.

I couldn't breathe. It felt as if all of the air had been forced out of me in one powerful squeeze.

Was it mine?

Although I hadn't kept tabs on Granger since our agreed split last year, still I hadn't heard any rumours about her seeing anyone, and I didn't see a ring on her finger now. Of course, I hadn't heard she was pregnant, either.

Was I the father of the baby? If so, it would be our child.

Hers and mine.

The pulse in my neck throbbed once, twice, and suddenly leapt to roaring life under my skin, giving a wild, unexpected vitality to my long-withered heart… and to other, more sensitive and neglected parts of my body. In Granger's presence, I came alive in a way I hadn't in almost three-fourths of a year, colour returning to my grey existence in a flash of heat and sawing breath.

In that second, the truth was a crushing anvil between my eyes: I still wanted her. I wanted Hermione Granger with a possessive hunger that burned in my chest and inflamed my lust. Yet, equally as startling was a desire for the child she was carrying to be my son or daughter.

That I also knew I could never have either wish was a Slashing Hex across my heart.

"Malfoy," Hermione warily addressed me, winding her long, woollen coat around her mid-section in a gesture meant to both hide and protect.

How could she be so calm and controlled, when I felt like I was gasping for my next lungful here?

I glanced around, making sure we were alone in the shoppe aisle, and then quickly stepped into her space, snaking my hand through the coat's opening and stroking her swollen abdomen. "Is it mine?" I asked.

I had to know. I needed to know.

Granger's wand was abruptly pressed against the underside of my jaw, and her dark honey-brown eyes glittered with angry resentment. "Hands off, Draco."

I stared into her still-pretty, slightly-rounder face, and felt a sense of déjà vu settle over me; this game was exactly the same one we'd played with each other at the beginning of our secret affair a year ago. Through the lens of experience, I now understood that the stubborn set of her jaw and the squaring of her shoulders were Hermione's unique response to fear. Erecting a wall of false courage was so very Gryffindor... and her way of distracting me from the fact that I'd hit on a topic that was uncomfortable for her.

Luckily, I knew just how to counter her pigheadedness.

With a smooth caress over her belly, I let my other hand join the first. Using them both, I slid over her curves, feeling every inch of the changes to her body. Her nipples hardened as my thumbs rubbed over them, and I weighed her heavier breasts in my palms.

Hermione gasped, flushing a lovely shade of red from neck to forehead. Her pink lips parted with desire, and her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. Her next breath hitched in her chest.

Her reaction set off mine. I licked my lips and leaned my face closer, undaunted by the end of her wand pressing harder into the flesh of my throat.

Salazar's bane, but I'd missed this woman! She'd wrapped herself so tightly around my heart eight months ago that it had been impossible to find any sort of happiness since we'd parted ways at graduation. I'd spent every day and night since cursing my situation, wishing otherwise. With the evidence before me of what might have been... my chest hurt as the knife twisted deeper.

"Tell me the truth. Is it mine?" I demanded, my nose nearly touching hers.

Her eyes flared open and our gazes locked. The fire from the eternal battle of our wills brought both of us to life once more.

"No, she's  _mine_ ," she hissed with fierce protectiveness. "You gave up any rights to us when you agreed to go through with that ridiculous arranged marriage and to start a life with Parkinson."

I shuddered and squeezed my eyes shut. It was mine, and we were having a little girl together!

I caressed her soft flesh and relived the memory of her under and over me, and of being so deep inside her that I never wanted to come up for air. "Hermione," I murmured, tilting my head to seek her lips. "I'm… I…"

She whimpered against the hot press of my mouth. "Don't," she begged as my lips caressed hers, and there was panic in her tone.

I couldn't do as she asked. No matter that my head was screaming at me that she was right, that I had to let her go, and that there was no place in this world for us and might-have-beens… I nipped her bottom lip and tugged, pulling us together.

We melted into each other, and the familiar taste of her drew me in and pulled me down hard. My hands massaged her breasts, my thumbs rubbed her sensitive nipples through the fabric of her shirt, and I was transported back to that night in the Divination Tower, when we'd traded secrets and given up our innocence to each other.

"Stop," she breathed, even as she kissed me back with a matching, reckless passion. "We can't-"

Bottles filled with multi-hued liquid magic shook as I pressed her harder into the shelf behind her, letting my thigh press into the 'vee' between hers and rub against her core with blatant, lusty intent.

_"Ahem."_

The sound of the shoppe's proprietor clearing his throat behind me was the proverbial bucket of ice water down my pants I'd needed. I paused, and my eyes snapped open to meet Granger's.

Hot tears fell from her lashes and her wounded, angry heart was in her gaze.

"Sir, Madam, this is a respectable establishment," the billion-year old, rheumy-eyed owner stated in a disapproving, clipped voice. "Please refrain from such behaviour whilst you are herein, if you don't mind. I would hate to have to ask you to leave."

My witch shoved me back and righted her clothing, her attention shifting to the man standing over my shoulder. "I apologize most sincerely, Mister Pripps. It won't happen again." She locked eyes with me once more, and there was no way I was breaching the defensive wall that had come up between us this time. "I assure you, it absolutely  _will not_."

"Of course not, Ms. Granger," the shop-keep replied, completely professional and smoothly calm, as if he expected there to have been no challenge to his rules.

She turned sideways to avoid her belly touching any part of me as she moved past, and then she was paying for her purchases and swept out the door without a glance in my direction.

Too shaken up by the encounter we'd just had, I did nothing but watch the woman I loved walk out of my life - again.

And just like the last time, I let her go without a word.

* * *

_**One month later…**_  

It was pathetic, really, standing outside her flat in the middle of the night and watching the lights in her living room flicker as she moved around, but I couldn't seem to make myself leave. It was as if my shoes had Sticking Charms on their soles, and I knew for a fact there was no spell in the world that could prevent my heart from loving Hermione Granger.

What was I hoping for by coming here for the third time this week? Or the four times last week? Or the two times the week before that? Me freezing my bollocks off wouldn't change the fact that I was destined to marry someone else come this June, whether I wanted to or not.

Yes, the marriage accords between the Malfoys and Parkinsons had been signed long ago, without my consent, in my name by proxy, but backing out now would be tantamount to social suicide. My family's name would be tarnished and I'd most likely be disowned. I was trapped by expectations outside of my sphere of influence, and there didn't seem to be any help for it.

Curse it all, if only I could let go of this... this  _bloody obsession_ that I had with Gryffindor's former Princess then perhaps I could move on with my life.

Shite, but Theo had been right when he'd warned me months ago that it was dangerously unhealthy to be pining away after a person who was wholly unobtainable. He knew from firsthand experience, as he'd been secretly pining away for Blaise for years (a truly hopeless romance, there, as Zabini was as straight as McGonagall's wand). Nott had been the only one I could confide in regarding my relationship with Granger, post-break-up… and although he'd been completely sympathetic to my plight, he'd also offered me some very sage advice. Namely, that lusting after another woman who was not my fiancée was preventing me from accepting the course of my decided future and settling my affections upon Pansy, my future wife, and that if I intended on having a modicum of happiness in my life, I needed to choose which woman – which life - I wanted more, and stick with it. Sodding bastard was  _always_ right when it came to interpersonal relationships… which was astounding, given he was the least social person I knew.

To be honest, this little stalking thing I had going wasn't working for me. All it was doing was depressing me more. My sleep was beginning to suffer as a result, and my appearance was going along for the ride. I'd never been this scruffy and unkempt. Even my mother had commented just this morning that I was beginning to resemble an Inferi in the face. I was at an all-time low.

On the up side, my alcohol consumption was at all-time high to compensate. I was beginning to actually enjoy the drunken blackouts, too, because they at least shut off my spinning mind and my unhappy dreams.

Her light went out, plunging the flat into darkness, and I wondered if she was going to bed now, or to take a relaxing bath.

"Sweet dreams, Granger," I whispered, and then turned on my heel and walked away, seeking a place I could safely Apparate away without being seen by Muggles.

When I arrived home, I immediately headed for my room and shut myself in for the night. The alcohol caddy was my next stop, and I filled and downed a small glass of Firewhisky to warm me before I shed my coat.

I stared at my monarch-sized bed, which looked utterly forsaken despite its mountain of plush, goose-down pillows and its magnificent, hand-embroidered comforter. It was already turned down by the house-elf in preparation for my rest, and I couldn't help but consider the dismal thought that in a few, short months, it wouldn't be so empty. Pansy would share that grand space with me come June. I'd take her virginity under those sheets, impregnate her upon that mattress, and fuck her on occasion just to relieve the need while gripping that headboard.

Would I feel as dead then as I did now?

Downing another glass of burning comfort, I realised it was time to face facts: I was never getting over Hermione Granger. The witch was in me in ways that were difficult to articulate, but which I could feel with every inch of bone and skin. She prowled through my mind with every thought, held me enthralled with every look, and haunted my peace even when she was far away. From the moment our lips had first touched, she'd imprinted on my Slytherin soul with her Gryffindor heart, and I'd been irrevocably changed. She'd ruined me for anyone else.

Add to that the knowledge that my first-born, the daughter Hermione and I had made together during one incredible night of unforgettable sex, would never know me as her father--that I wouldn't even be allowed to acknowledge her–-and I was absolutely wrecked.

* * *

_**Three days later…**_  

An owl arrived from Theo at twenty past eleven that morning with a message, letting me know that Hermione had arrived at St. Mungo's earlier that day, having gone into labour.

According to the note, my friend had been stationed to monitor the Reception desk in the hospital's main lobby until Doris, the Welcome Witch, returned from a smoking break (a task Nott had deemed "completely unfit for a genius Apprentice Healer, such as myself," and "as fucking dull as watching paint dry"). His boredom had been abruptly disturbed, however, at a quarter past ten by Weasley rushing in carrying a moaning, panting, sweaty Granger in his arms, shouting something about her water breaking all over his mum's freshly mopped kitchen floor. It was only after Theo had directed the two towards the lift, to go to the Sixth Floor where Maternity and the Nursery were located, that he'd thought to write me.

_"_ Kind of me, I know," Nott had prattled on in the letter. "We'll just chalk it up to a favour later, shall we?"

As I read on, Nott's letter advised me not to visit just then, as there was a full house of Grangers, Weasleys, and "one prickly Potter", who were ready and willing to hex me this side of the moon for putting Hermione through so much pain. Besides, Theo thought that seeing me might upset Granger, who seemed to be having a rather hard time of the contractions.

As I finished reading the note, it took every bit of discipline I had to stay in my chair. My mother had commented on how pale I'd suddenly turned, and asked what was wrong.

After several minutes of consideration, I figured I had nothing left to lose, so I told both of my parents the truth. We three were sitting in the conservatory together at the small table, partaking of elevenses, and I told them in a very casual manner that my little girl was coming into the world right then.

"I'm going to be a father any minute now, and you're about to be grandparents. Congratulations."

My father lost it, of course, and my mother blanched, looking like she was on the verge of a rather serious swoon. I paid absolutely no attention to either of them as they berated my foolishness, and dared to forbid me from stepping up and claiming the child as mine. Instead I'd gone inside my own thoughts, lost in worries about Hermione and the baby.

How long did it take to give birth, anyway? The way Theo had made it sound, it was something that could take hours, but I was sure my mother once told me that she'd given birth to me in less than two. Which was normal? Which was safer?Would there be a lot of blood? Would Hermione cry much? I'd heard it said that giving birth was the most painful thing a person could do, but how much was that, exactly, and what could I possibly compare such a feeling to? I mean, I'd known popping Granger's cherry had hurt her, but she'd gotten over that pretty quickly. A baby, though, how could that not feel like she was being split in two? Christ, passing something the size of a Quaffle had to be murder on her poor body.

I felt completely ridiculous knowing next-to-nothing about the process of procreation after the sex stuff was finished. Why hadn't I paid better attention to Pomfrey in fourth year Health Class, for those three weeks when all of this crike had been mandatory to learn? Oh no, I'd been too busy passing crude notes back and forth with Blaise and Greg and Vince to really focus on the material, and I'd cheated off of Theo's test to get the passing 'Acceptable' I'd needed.

Shite, but that had been the stupid move, hadn't it? Because now I would worry until that roiling, gnawing feeling in the pit of my belly clawed its way up my throat and clogged my airway. I'd suffocate on the not-knowing bits, until Theo sent word... which could be an hour from now, or several hours. Or was it days? Would I have to wait that long to find out how Hermione and the baby were doing?

That thought naturally paved the way for questions about what my daughter would look like once she came into the world, and what her future held after that. Would my baby girl have my grey eyes and Granger's curly, dark locks? Or would her hair be as light and straight as mine, and she'd be graced with amber-honey eyes like her mother's? Would she be tall like me, or of average height, like Granger? Would she own the Malfoy smirk, and have her mother's penchant for ink-stained fingers when she was old enough to write? What would her given name be? What last name would be listed as on the birth announcement?

Well, hell, she'd be a Granger, wouldn't she? I couldn't give her my family's name without her carrying the stigma of being a misbegotten child... a bastard.

The pressure that had been wound up so tight inside me for the last four weeks seemed to suddenly burst at the thought of what that label would mean for my child and for her mother. Like a punctured dirigible, all of the air was suddenly and painfully sucked from my lungs in a great, whooshing breath that near knocked me to my knees.

Hermione--a social pariah because of my cowardly refusal to balk pure-blood traditions.

My little girl--shamed by my reluctance to claim her as mine for the same reasons.

_Fuck. That._

There really was only one choice if I didn't want to see that happen, though.

Could I actually break-off my engagement? My father would despise me for life. My mother would be scandalised and probably refuse to speak to me for a very long time. I'd be tossed out on my ear without a sickle of the Malfoy inheritance and my image would be burned from the Black family tapestry, just like Aunt Andromeda's and cousin Sirius' names. The family reputation would be tarnished in society. I'd be terminated from the Board of Directors for Malfoy Industries, and would be effectively unemployed. Pansy would kick me hard in the bollocks for embarrassing her by casting her aside and, like my mother, would probably not speak to me again anytime soon.

In exchange, I would gain everything I truly wanted: Hermione in my bed, at my side for always, my little girl in my life, and the end of my bad dreams and my sleepless nights. No more feeling like I had a hole carved out of the centre of my chest, and that I was forgetting something very important every time I got up and left a room, either. There would be really great sex with a hot witch, and since I still had my own vault at Gringotts that contained a tidy sum, thanks to my mother's deceased parents, I could ensure that my little family lived in a modicum of comfort for the rest of our lives. I could try out for the Montrose Magpies, too, just as I'd secretly wanted to for years, and perhaps get a slot on the team. Finally, Theo would quit nagging me to make a decision and stick with it. I could get him off my back once and for all.

Overall, the cons sucked, but I could live with them if it would mean I'd stop feeling like someone had dragged me face-first through a field of broken glass shards without the benefit of a Shield Charm, and that's all that mattered.

Galvanized by such thoughts, I abruptly stood up, disrupting my father's tirade, and firmly explained to them that I was a Malfoy, and I would do right by my blood, no matter the cost. I turned on my heel and walked out, already making plans in my head as I gathered my coat and wand, and headed for the front door.

Of course, I'm sure Lucius and Narcissa thought I meant I wouldn't be annulling the marriage agreement with the Parkinsons, picking them and the Malfoy reputation over Granger and our child. I didn't bother to correct their misunderstanding. They'd find out about it soon enough, anyway.

* * *

_**A week later…**_  

With the paperwork in ironclad order to assure my parents couldn't counter or overrule my decisions, or take from my personal accounts in retribution for what I was about to do, and with my personal items slyly moved out of my room at the Manor and into my new Hyde Park penthouse in London, I Apparated before Granger's little flat in Camden to begin the next stage of 'Operation: Make Them Mine'.

I marched up to Granger's building door and hit the little button next to her nameplate, hoping that pressing it would act as some sort of summoning chime.

"Yes? Who's there?"

Her voice came out of some metal grate set into the wall in front of me. It sounded muffled and tinny.

Well, what do you know? It worked!

"Granger? Hello?" I leaned down to put my mouth at a level with the strange, brass box. "Can you hear me?"

"Is anyone there?" she asked, as if she hadn't heard me.

I growled with irritation. Why did the Fates conspire so that nothing could ever be easy between her and me? Shite, I'd made up my mind, crossed the street, and was ready to take the plunge. Being foiled by Muggle technology wasn't part of the plan.

"Granger, open the door."

A small knock against glass drew my attention up and over.

And there she was... Hermione was standing on the other side of the door. She was beautiful, despite her obvious exhaustion, and her hastily tied-back hair, and the fact that she was wearing some sort of ugly, Muggle outfit that was made of soft, purple cotton fleece, was too large for her frame, and wasn't at all flattering as it hung off of her like elephant skin. Still, just being this close to her again nearly took my breath away.

The moment passed when she tweaked an eyebrow at me. That one look let me know that she thought me a complete idiot for not only appearing here at this late hour, but also because I couldn't figure out how to work her stupid brass box.

I reined in my annoyance, and demanded, "Open up."

Her stare went flat. "No," she countered, her voice muffled by the panes of glass between us. "Go away."

I raised my wand, letting her see that it was in my hand. "Granger, don't mess with me right now. I'm irritated, I'm desperate, and... sod all, I'll use it. I swear, I will," I threatened.

She raised her wand in riposte, completely unfazed by my warning. "Try it," she dared me through narrowed eyes.

I mentally sighed. It was going to be one of  _those_ stand-offs between us, where neither of us would budge.

Fuck it. I was laying my cards down. I had nothing left to lose at this point.

Using a non-verbal charm, I chilled the glass between us, creating fog upon its face. I then proceeded to write on it with a fingertip.

_**UOY EVOL I** _

It's a harder phrase to write than you'd think. Especially backwards. Especially when you've never said it before in your life to anyone, except your parents.

I went for broke.

_**EM YRRAM** _

Granger stared at my poor attempt at reverse writing, and I could see her eyes going over and over every letter, as if she couldn't believe they were juxtaposed in just  _that_ order to spell  _those_ phrases. When she met my gaze finally, those hateful tears were back glossing her honey-brown eyes. "You're engaged," she reminded me.

I grit my back teeth at her stubbornness.

"Officially, as of this morning, I'm not," I told her. "I suspect I'll been disinherited anytime now, once my parents read the note from my solicitor on the subject, too. It posted about an hour ago, so the owl should just be reaching Wiltshire from London. Now let me in before I blast the bloody door down. My toes and fingers have become icicles from standing outside your flat for the last six weeks."

I was deadly serious, and it seemed as if Hermione finally got the message, because she suddenly burst into sobs.

" _Alohamora_ ," I quietly cast, and opened her door. A beat later, she was in my arms, clinging to me and saying my name in a relieved tone of voice, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe again.

* * *

_**Epilogue: the next morning…**_  

She was so small, and her breaths were deep and even as she slumbered. I wondered what she was dreaming about, and whether she instinctively understood that her father had come for her at last.

"What's her name?"

Hermione smiled at me as we leaned over the crib, staring down at the miracle we'd created together. The hem of her flannel nightdress tickled my bare feet as she pressed closer into my side.

"Carina Rose."

I reached down with my free hand and very gently touched my daughter for the first time letting my fingertips trail down her cherubic, pink cheek in the lightest of caresses. "It's beautiful," I whispered. "She's beautiful."

My little girl reached up and gripped my finger in her two tiny hands and held tight, still fast asleep. I felt my heart beat hard under my ribs in response.

"Can we change her last name at the same time as yours?" I asked, unsure. Even though Hermione and I had spent the better part of the night talking, kissing, and holding each other, coming to an understanding and agreeing on making a future together, I was still very nervous about how much Granger would allow me to get away with. So far, she'd conceded to the three of us moving into my Hyde Park flat together, and for a June wedding. Would she be amicable to giving our daughter my name, considering I'd been out of the picture for almost the entirety of her pregnancy?

My witch gave me a brilliant smile that took my breath away, easing my fears. "We would both love that." She kissed me very tenderly on the lips.

I turned to look down at my baby girl, and felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips. "Carina Rose Malfoy. I like it. What do you think?"

Carina opened her steely grey eyes to stare right at me, and I could swear she gave me the Malfoy patented smirk. Then, she let out a deep breath as if she'd been waiting just for this moment to happen, and content with the outcome, closed her eyes again and promptly fell back to sleep.

"Well, I suppose that settles it," Hermione said around a hushed giggle.

I chuckled under my breath. "Yes, I suppose it does."

 

_**~FIN~** _

**Author's Note:**

> No sequel planned - sorry! I like this story as it stands.
> 
> Please review!


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